One Has To Wonder Why
John Clare was the English language greatest poet of Nature
So much of Nature's ways the man did know
But he died in a mental institution
In Northampton asylum near to fifteen decades ago
Just like Vincent Van Gogh the Dutchman a World renowned artist
His paintings are sold for millions today
Yet he died poor and mentally unstable
At his own hands in quite a tragic way
William Cowper was a literary genius
A man who too was mentally unwell
He never did enjoy the fame he earned
And life for him it was an Earthly hell
James Clarence Mangan is the National Bard of Ireland
He died in mid life at forty six years old
A poor Dubliner in Ireland's years of famine
His death was of consumption we are told
Janet Frame was a great New Zealand writer
But she was seldom happy in her mind
Her life story is not a happy story
Though her equal would be very hard to find
Stephen Foster was America's greatest songwriter
Of him true greatness cannot be denied
But fame in his lifetime failed to make him happy
And 'twas of alcoholic poisoning that he died
Paul Robeson one of the World's greatest singers
He died a very disappointed man
A victim of politics and racism
Yet his fame on it does not have a time span.
Poverty, madness and racism not a barrier to greatness
As the lives of many greats does testify
But in their lives some for their genius not rewarded
And why this should be one has to wonder why?
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poems Of John Clare
For years in Northampton mental asylum he battled his ghosts of despair
His Nation's finest poet of Nature the marvellous wordsmith John Clare
So many of his poems are relevant today
The one who loved Nature with words had a way.
The Helpston he grew up in not a cultural place
And though in that old Village his was a known face
They little realized the fame to them he'd bring
That poetry lovers World wide his praises would sing.
Without him less people of Helpston would know
The great poet of Nature of centuries ago
He died in Northampton mental asylum in dire poverty
Yet is there one greater Nature poet than he?
His flora and fauna poems have passed scrutiny's test
And as a Nature poet he was surely the best
Into the soul of Nature it seemed he could see
And his verses have outlived his mortality.
He never did enjoy his literary renown
And he died in the asylum in Northampton Town
But he was a true poet and his type are so rare
And old Helpston lives on in the poems of John Clare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Arguably John Clare
In the English language the greatest poet of Nature is arguably John Clare
Many of his bird and animal and insect poems are gems beyond compare
Yet he died in Northampton mental asylum where he had lived for many years
He penned such marvellous poetry though his life was full of tears.
His Nature poems of the nineteenth century are relevant to today
The Badger and The Landrail, The Fox and Clock a Clay
The Pettichap, The Cuckoo and The Thrush's Nest
When Writing about Nature Clare was at his best.
In death the poor shepherd poet from Helpston has come into his own
His poems poetic classics around the World are known
The greatest Nature poet of England as many would agree
A poet for the ages from a life of poverty.
As a boy amongst Nature in the fields of Helpston he knew of happiness
But sad to think one like him in life did not know of success
With any English Nature poet he favourably does compare
The legendary one of Helpston the reamarkable John Clare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Most Famous I Am Poem
The most famous 'I Am' poem came from the pen of John Clare
When in Northampton mental asylum his type of person rare
Since when mentally unwell his best poems he did pen
One of the most amazing in his time of literary men.
The most famous 'I Am' poem of self does not boast
From the pen of one who to self never drunk a toast
A poor and mentally ill and near forgotten man
One close to the end of his tragic life span.
The most famous 'I Am' poem to it has a sad ring
'Tis not of the wonderful life it does sing
Now used as the anthem poem of the mentally ill
The most famous 'I Am' poem life's cup of dark sorrows does fill.
The most famous 'I Am' poem not a great song of life
But of one who had struggled with his inner strife
From the heart of a poor poet a cry of despair
The most famous 'I Am' poem from the pen of John Clare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Mystic And The Realist
in his poem 'To the Cuckoo' Wordsworth described the bird as a mysterious thing
As if a bird's voice without a bird out of nowhere did sing
As he told he searched for the bird on bush and sky and tree
And yet that voice to him remained as a great mystery.
John Clare the poet from Helpston where he lived when he was young
Once got so close to the cuckoo that he even see her tongue
A leading student of Nature's ways Nature he did not mystify
He never told of searching for a mysterious bird in bush and tree and sky.
Poor John Clare had a mental illness by life he was given a raw deal
But he did see Nature for what she is he see Nature as real
The birds and animals that lived around him he intimately knew
And to the reality of Nature till death he remained true.
The Mystic and the Realist they see things differently
What was a real bird to one to the other was a mystery
What makes us all interesting is that we are more different even than we realize
And we see the World around us through very different eyes.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Most Famous I Am Poem
The most famous I Am poem was penned by John Clare
When he was in Northampton mental asylum and burdened by care
A poem from all others that set him apart
For life's poor and forsaken a cry from the heart,
A poem by an aged poet lost in the lost years
The most famous I Am poem move many to tears
A poem written by one who knew about despair
That poem his reality such poems are rare
The most famous I Am poem tells of an Earthly Hell
Known by the fringe dwellers the mentally unwell
The song of an old poet forsaken and gray
The truth in his words is still living today
And though the renowned old wordsmith to the reaper long gone
His famous I Am poem it is living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Have Praised Mother Nature
I have praised Mother Nature in ballad, song and rhyme
And writing on Mother Nature is never a waste of time
And though I am not a Burns, Francis Ledwidge or John Clare
I am one of the many about Nature who does care.
To write something on Nature is always satisfying
For Nature she has been around before creatures started flying
Her streams flow to her rivers her rivers to her oceans flow
And Nature will live forever though her Seasons will come and go.
I have praised mother Nature and her praises I'll always sing
The colours of her Seasons Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring
And though I truly love her little of her ways I know
I find her quite amazing and my wonder of her grow.
To my Goddess of Nature this rhyme I dedicate
I live in sheer awe of her of the beauty she create
She is the one immortal her beauty will live on
Long after the last human being to her reaper has gone.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Leave Me To Mother Nature
I don't want to live for to be frail and old and kept alive by pills
And taking the most unnatural drugs for to combat my many ills
Leave me to Mother Nature my fate she will decide
Since the Reaper will find us all one day from him we cannot hide.
The greatest people we know of their fame was known World wide
They loved life, their achievements great but they grew old and died
The longest human life seems brief in the eternity of time
And time outlives the artist's fame and the great poet's greatest rhyme.
With pills do not prolong my suffering of suffering set me free
Leave me to Mother Nature she knows what's best for me
Human bodily parts like an old car engine with age slowly decay
Leave me to Mother Nature when I've known my better day.
Leave me to Mother Nature of me she will take care
An ageing body as we know is beyond human repair
Us Humans like Nature's Seasons to life we come and go
But Mother Nature lives forever the only God I know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Thirteen Lines
A brain peered through stoic eyes;
Yet all it saw was rendered into
Flawed interpretation –
No honoured contemplation of a
Gluon, muon, quark of any flavour;
Nor a vision or conception of its world
Within a universe anthropic in its physical laws,
Inside a boundless multiverse.
All it gleaned and modelled
Bore parochialism well beyond belief! –
Delusional perhaps.
Survival only matters here on planet Earth –
Evolution saw to that.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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John Masefield Was Much More Than A Poet Laureate
John Masefield was much more than a poet laureate he was indeed a verse maker supreme
His longer poems are surely masterpieces and will live for centuries or so it would seem
From his prolific pen the rhymes kept flowing he kept on penning till the day he died
No doubt about it born to be a wordsmith and greatness of him cannot be denied
John Masefield wrote the poetry of the masses and in his lifetime was famed Worldwide
His 'Reynard The Fox' the greatest hunting poem ever of the hunting people of the English countryside
His other famed longer poems 'The Daffodil Fields' and 'The Everlasting Mercy' and 'Dauber' the boy artsist who died at sea
As well as others are true masterpieces to rhyme to him seemed to come easily
His descriptive powers to say the least amazing it must be true that poets are born not made
For sixty years he was a major poet a literary icon of the wordsmith trade
John Masefield he was Ledbury's greatest poet one might say a manufacturer of rhyme
For many years he was Britain's Poet Laureate until he too lost out to father time
He truly was the poet of the people and poets of his stature as always are rare
He died an old man in his eighty ninth year with England's best he surely does compare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Amazing Wonders Of Nature
The more that I learn about Nature the less of her I know that I know
And the more that I learn of Nature the more my wonder of her does grow
One can only live in awe of her wonders she does seem amazing to me
Scarce a day goes by that in Nature a new wonder one does not see
The artists and writers are inspired by her she is one not hard to admire
And of singing our Earth Mother's praises I feel that one never could tire
I am not a student of Nature though that's something I wish I could be
Her ways I do find fascinating yet she does seem too complex for me
Since she hides from us her many secrets all in Nature is not what you think that you see
The birds and animals have their survival methods which they do guard with secrecy
The different ways of the different creatures of land and of river and sea
On the ways and the workings of Nature the experts even disagree
The more that I learn of Nature so little of her I know that I know
So marvellous and so amazing and my wonder of her only grow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Parker Clare
To a forgotten culture perhaps he now belongs
The man who could sing over a thousand songs
The father of the famous poet John Clare
Even in his own time people like him were rare.
The ballad singer of the Helpston countryside
Hundreds of the old songs he sung with him died
So little of the oral tradition now remain
Forever lost not to be found again.
Two hundred years ago one of a dying breed
Poor Parker Clare he could not write nor read
Yet through his son his name lives on today
A memory lost but yet to fade away.
He came from an oral tradition that is forever gone
Yet memories of what was still living on
And at a time when great change was happening in his English countryside
Most of the songs he sung with Parker died.
A fading memory that won't fade away
And through his son his name still lives today
Still a genius in his own right the thresher Parker Clare
And even in his time his type were quite rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Gaia’s Plan
Please, don’t sweep the leaves away –
Their essence gives to life’s decay.
Never hack the flowers down –
Their colours bless the laughing clown.
Now why the mowing of the lawn?
The severed grass will lie forlorn.
Let our flora live undressed,
Or under Man, will toil repressed!
I, the tree of standing still –
Erect and proud, and stout of will,
Aglow with motley bark of earth –
Advance my roots for all they’re worth,
Internalising Nature’s bowels
To snag the devil, tweak his jowls
And pull his hairs from whence they grow!
I’ll destroy his pagan show
Of Homo sapiens’ disrespect!
The humble ape must reconnect
With Gaia’s plan!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Nature’s Always the Best
Why change the rose’s hue to black and blue?
Why spray the chickens with colors galore?
Why trim the shrubs into the shapes we think?
What God has given stays always the best!
The genes will manifest their innate traits;
The environs can alter them a bit;
The laws of Nature work even in freaks;
Flawless is God’s creation to the core!
Let man align with Nature in all spheres;
The mind of man can’t control Nature’s ways;
All Nature’s furies, man can’t comprehend;
God is the Master of the universe.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-5-2009
poem by John Celes
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The School Of Nature
To be a poet
it is essential to be a student
of school of nature
to complete this study
one life is not sufficient
but has to take many births
its language and grammars are too tough
no university can meet it up
in the school of nature
the languages of stars, planets & all creatures
are taught for which you have to choose a teacher
God is the super teacher to teach you
in the school of nature.
poem by Ramesh Rai
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Country Walking
I walked a league and o'er the moor;
I walked and walked as ne’er before,
And on to walk from dale to hill
And on again to claim the thrill.
Behold! that walking does for me:
The senses heightened, mind of glee,
While rolling vistas pass me by
To swell the heart, enthrall the eye.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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You Who Cannot Love Nature
Her natural ways you only wish to control
You who cannot love Nature you do not have a soul
Our beloved Earth Goddess the source of the poet's muse
The one who sustains us and her you abuse.
A successful developer and a known millionaire
Yet you are not special and your type not rare
You have caused the death of many a tree
You cannot love Nature that seems sad to me.
You don't hear the birds sing where there once was a wood
Yet many look up to you see greed as good
Far too many people and too few who care
For the Goddess of Nature in her World out there.
You who cannot love Nature you do not understand
That we are a part of her as much as a grain of sand
And whether our remains they bury or burn
Of Nature we are and to her we'll return.
You who cannot love Nature the windows of your soul
Are covered in dark shades that are dark as coal
All of those who love Nature you look on as strange
And you snigger aloud at talk of climate change.
poem by Francis Duggan
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John The Odd
With other children games he did not play
When they played football he would steal away
To take short walk or rest in shade of tree
He felt happy in his own company.
He did not have sporting hero as a god
And other children called him 'John the odd'
And other put down names like idiot and fool
But he ignored their taunts and kept his cool.
He loved Nature and Nature was his friend
And his leisure hours out with Nature he spend
And 'twas Nature first taught him to be a poet
And to her children his first rhymes he wrote.
He wrote of Nature's creatures living free
The birds of song who live on bush and tree
The animals that live on land and sea
He loved Nature and her huge family.
From their schooldays men recall John the odd
They say he went to join his Nature God
One morning he left home for far away
And none know of his whereabouts today.
With other boys he did not play football
And those who went to school with him recall
That with Nature he spent his leisure time
And 'twas Mother Nature who taught him how to rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tortured Nature
Nature must be love
It is made by god above
Nature is in place
Nature is always with grace
The nature is green
It is colorful when seen
Nature is serene
It is peaceful ever seen
But people is bad
They make mother nature mad
When nature gets mad
It feels like the wrath of god
Disaster of nature
Is enough of your torture
Nature is flower
It gives love like a lover
poem by Ronald Jay Fiesta
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Shakespeare, who is probably the greatest writer and poet of the English language, lived in a time that was politically very conservative and it's reflected in his writings.
As I ventured to the Wood
As I ventured to the wood,
I stopped to draw on dewy air; let
Droplets shimmer in my hair, that
Rested on my tranquil head – as
In a sense of cosy bed.
As I ventured to the wood,
A gesturing cuckoo perched above,
And then in song with cooing dove,
‘You're welcome’, bade he, ’Enter please
To roam our land with gentle breeze.’
As I ventured to the wood,
A fallow deer of limpid eye
Gave care to glance at lucky I.
The heavenly aura 'bout her glow had
Charmed me, like a fine Bordeaux.
As I ventured to the wood,
A dazzling flower waved her face
In blazing show of dance and chase, and
Reddened bright in shade of dawn, she
Flirted like a prancing fawn.
As I ventured to the wood,
A butterfly had graced my arm,
And knowing I bid him no harm, he
Splayed for me hypnotic wing in
Colours for to urge me sing!
As I ventured to the wood,
The radiant sun shone down on me.
He flushed and beamed ‘I say to thee,
You bless your land; be filled with pride, and
Cherish e’er yon countryside! ’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
Nature, nature, Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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